Curse of Shadows and Thorns: A Dark Fantasy Romance (The Broken Kingdoms Book 1)
Curse of Shadows and Thorns: Chapter 17

Sol is a prince worth waiting for. The gods have answered our endless prayers. Dear Arvad, my resolute, loving king. How many times these long eight turns have I offered consorts, if only to give him the heir our people need? My king, I believe, was beginning to resent me for even considering it. Yet, each tearful time I told him to replace another, he’d kiss my brow, and assure me the Norns would never bring him such a queen only for him to bed another. Palace healers believe I will bear no more children, but it does not matter. Sol—the Sun Prince—is born. And by the gods, does he have strong lungs . . .

“It’s been too long since I’ve stepped inside the gates of Ravenspire. This fete will be one to remember,” Runa said as she tucked rowan berries in her braids. “I can hardly wait.”

I closed Lilianna’s journal and looked at my sister. “It’s disgusting.”

My body was overheated with anger as Mavie tugged on the laces of a new rose gown; ordered from the Ravenspire seamstresses after the three Agitators from the camp had been arrested.

“Do explain,” said Runa.

“Having days of banquets celebrating executions,” I snapped. “What are we supposed to do, eat and dance while we stare at their mangled bodies?”

Siv stared listlessly out the window, unlike herself for most of the day. Mavie sighed but said nothing. Not with Runa in the room.

My sister looked up from her place in front of the vanity mirror. “Hush, Elise. Agitators deserve what they are dealt. Why do you say these things when these men would’ve killed you without a thought? By the gods, it’s as if you want the enemies of Timoran to drag us down to the hells.”

I rolled my eyes. “No, but someday I would like peace. A way to negotiate a coexistence in this land without bloodshed.”

Runa glared at me and stood. “Peace with traitors? They worship a dead prince, Elise. They will never accept us. Tell me you truly don’t think this way, sister. Tell me you don’t place value on anyone else but the strength of your own people.”

Runa had not shown such a level of passion in turns. It was unsettling. “Runa, I dream of the day when Ettans, and fury, and Timorans are united as one. We’d be stronger for it.”

My sister winced as though my words were a fist striking her jaw. Her discomposure lasted no more than a few breaths before she rolled back her shoulders, a sneer on her face. “Such a pity.”

Without another word, Runa strode from the room, chin high.

I waved her exit away. For the next week I’d be expected to make merry with the high royals and high nobles of Lyx inside Castle Ravenspire. A spectacle. And I was the catalyst for such an event. We would leave for Castle Ravenspire in moments, and there, King Zyben had planned a feast of feasts, court entertainment, balls, and hunts. To honor his poor niece who survived the enemies of New Timoran. Then as a warning to all, the three Agitators would be executed and hung on the gates.

I had no desire to feast over such things.

“Try not to think of it,” Mavie offered as she handed me a fur-lined cloak.

I took it grudgingly.

“You both look lovely,” I said in more of a snarl.

“I’ve never worn something so fine,” Mavie said as she smoothed out the silk pleats of her skirt. Siv gave a mere glance at her emerald dress. As my official maids they would be allowed into Ravenspire and were required to dress the part.

Together we made our way to the front entrance where the coaches were being loaded with our trunks. Our entourage would be stacked with four Ravenspire patrols for each carriage. My father insisted on bringing at least half a dozen of our serfs. Our travel party would have at least four coaches. We’d be noticed the moment we left the gates, and it boiled my temper even more. This was not a proud moment. I didn’t understand why death—even an enemy’s death—was a thing to celebrate. How many more centuries would pass before the people who claimed this land found peace amongst each other?

“Bevan,” I greeted the old man as he awaited near my parents’ coach. “I’m glad you’ll be attending. It’ll feel a little more like home.”

He bowed his head. “I rarely pass up an opportunity to visit Castle Ravenspire.”

“Nor an opportunity to see De Hӓn Odda,” Mavie muttered.

Bevan glared, but in his weathered face was a hint of color. I snickered and patted Bevan’s arm. Odda was one of Zyben’s head cooks. If anyone were Night Folk, I’d guess Odda. The woman had the blackest eyes and something about her cooking left anyone who tasted feeling lighter than when they came.

The single bright moment came when Legion stood aside the coach I’d be using. He dressed all in black. Not the fine clothes of a tradesman, with polished shoes and trousers and sharp collars. Legion wore a thick, boiled leather belt around his waist, boots to his knees, and a tunic dark as night. Hardly discreet were the bone-sharp blades on his belt, his thighs. Even sheathed across the small of his back was a dagger with a silver hilt.

My fingers went numb. He was a sight, almost inhumanly beautiful. I stumbled on my hem when his dark gaze found me. The corner of his mouth curled as he approached us, one hand outstretched.

“Kvinna Elise,” he said and pressed the top of my hand to his lips. “You steal the night’s beauty with your own.”

As he spoke, my father limped past with my mother reluctantly on his arm. Still, she heard Legion and nodded her approval. I snorted a laugh and leaned in. “Careful, or you will charm my mother’s affections straight to you.”

“I simply spoke the truth.” He held out his arm, waiting until I took it. We would drive separately from my parents. Runa and her maids would remain at the head, and I was grateful to be away from my family for the evening.

Seated beside Halvar on the driver’s bench, Tor was dressed much like Legion. Two Ravenspire guards bowed their heads and held open our doors. Mavie muttered declarations of excitement under her breath being treated much the same as me. She ran her fingers over the silver threads in the plush velvet seats. Siv huddled in the corner and pulled back the black shade, peering into the night. In a window basket was spiced red and apple wine with flutes, and the musk of sharp cheeses perfumed the air. Nothing but the grandest things for the king’s guests.

“So, tell me, Herr Grey,” I began as I settled on the bench. “Why are you dressed like our heavily armed escorts?”

“Fortunately for you, I am not playing the role of negotiator during our time in Ravenspire. I am, in fact, the Kvinna’s personal guard.” Legion sat close, and I fought the urge to lean into him. I kept my attraction to Legion Grey personal. Not even Mavie and Siv knew I was drawn to him in a way I didn’t quite understand. “Which reminds me—” Legion leaned forward and pulled from his boot a slender knife with a row of emeralds embedded in the blade. He handed it to me. “You promised.”

To defend myself. I recalled the moment he made me assure him I would not be afraid to strike again. I took the blade with a touch of caution but smiled. Again, the man did not treat me as something incapable or fragile.

“Are you trained to be a guard?” Mavie asked.

“I believe Kvin Lysander prefers that I’m not trained like Ravenspire patrols. Street waifs learn to fight by a different set of rules.”

Mavie lifted her dark brows and pinched her lips. Siv closed her eyes as if she might be ill and turned toward the window again. A cinch tightened in the pit of my stomach. Whatever had happened between my friend and Legion was still there, and part of me believed neither had told the full truth about their confrontation. But I could not force them to give up the truth if they both refused.

We’d left Mellanstrad as the sun faded over the Fate’s Ocean, and by the time we arrived at the outer gates of the royal city of Lyx, the black velvet sky gleamed with stars and the quarter moon. The ride smoothed over paved brick roads. Dozens of painted and polished gas lamps lined quaint streets with red twin homes and apartments with painted shutters. In Lyx, the air was different than the docks of Mellanstrad. Instead of mildew and brine, a perfume of flowers and cinnamon and freshly baked bread hovered at every corner.

Town folk waved colorful ribbons and kerchiefs as our caravan drove past. All celebrating the grandness of Castle Ravenspire, all shouting praises to the royal family for protecting New Timoran from Agitators, from Night Folk—from traitors.

I leaned back in my seat, refusing to look out again.

All my guilt over this execution, this celebration, was beginning to feel more like treason than empathy. Naturally I should want my people to dominate. I should be as Runa, filled with pride Timorans could crush the backs of the rest. But I could not deny the wretched desire for a different kind of change.

The Agitators’ cry that my family were the imposters had embedded into my mind and would not let go.

At the top of a sharp incline, the coach rolled to a stop at the gates of Castle Ravenspire. My knee bounced and my stomach soured. Not long and I’d need to play a role I grew weary of playing. While Mavie and Siv both glanced out the window as the coach drove slowly into the royal grounds, Legion’s hand covered mine in my lap.

“Something troubles you,” he whispered.

Lanterns outside were the only light we had, but I could make out the profile of his strong jaw and the concern on his face. I slipped my fingers through his and tightened my grip. “I’m not suited for Timoran royalty. This entire ordeal feels . . . wrong.”

Legion scrutinized me for a moment. “You don’t believe Agitators need to pay?”

“Yes,” I muttered. “Yes, of course. Anyone who tries to murder another should be punished, but I grow tired of the endless bloodshed. There once was a belief that dissent should be met with discussion and, if possible, compromise.”

Legion raised his dark brows. “Kvinna Elise, are you quoting ideas from, dare I say, Ettan war journals?”

I flushed. “I read their decrees of war and law, perhaps. I might not agree with it all, but their laws boasted fairness and justice. All I’m saying is not once has anyone at Castle Ravenspire, even before Zyben, tried to hear them out, tried to understand their hatred.” I shook my head, feeling foolish. “As I said, I’m not suited to be a royal.”

Legion didn’t assure me of anything. In truth, he seemed a little bewildered, and I wished I could read his thoughts. He squeezed my hand once, then released it as we pulled in front of the entrance of the fortress.

Castle Ravenspire was indeed a fortress.

Built behind a sphere of mounds and wooden fences, the inner dwellings were made of slate bricks and stone, of black oakwood and iron. The castle was divided into six main buildings, shaped as traditional longhouses on some, while others rose over the grounds with three levels. All were connected by covered cross halls or bridges; all had a tower with guards armed in axes and knives and arrows; all were large and exaggerated.

Castle Ravenspire was not bright or welcoming. Dark walls with flames in harsh iron sconces gave the formidable message to those visiting that Timoran warriors built the fortress, and Timoran warriors claimed it still.

Bits and pieces of the Ferus palace were still there, though.

I gazed at the white brick schoolhouse where the old royals of Etta would study their history, no doubt. Where they learned of their people, or fury, if they had it. Every few paces another bit of white brick, or gilded edges hinted this place was once a bright palace on a hill. Now Castle Ravenspire was a symbol of war.

“Three hells, I never . . .” Mavie said in a gasp, staring at the towers. “This is enormous.”

“It is.” I grinned. Now, when I visited Ravenspire, it didn’t surprise me, but I was much the same as Mavie the first time I saw the labyrinth of corridors and walls and rooftops.

We fell into a formation once the other coaches were emptied. Runa and her maids at the lead—since she would be queen someday and would never let us forget—next my parents with Bevan and Inge, my mother’s maid, and a few guards at their backs. Tor, Halvar, and Legion crowded around me and my friends. I’d not noticed back at home how Halvar looked less like a stable hand and more like an assassin with rows of knives on his belt and a black hood over his dark hair.

But his playful voice robbed him of viciousness. “By the gods they better have tarts in the kitchens.” He’d muttered it to Tor, who nodded without changing his stony expression.

Legion spared me a quick glance and signaled for me to lead on.

Inside, Ravenspire transformed. Painted walls in pearly white with flecks of gold. Silver and gilded filagree on the moldings. Rows of hanging iron chandeliers with a hundred candles. Zyben used rich blue as his color, and every bit of floor was covered in long woven runners of blue and gold and black. Ravenspire’s symbol: a raven holding a single arrow in its beak, and its talons gripping a spiked crown, was on every mantle, every banner, every rug.

The corridors burst with noble folk from Lyx, Mellanstrad, the south shores, and north cliffs. Gowns with crystal beads and fur bodices. Suitcoats hemmed in gold and silver. Gold watches, bangles, necklaces. The air was hot in meads and wines, and dining had not yet begun.

Being the second royal family, the crowds parted, even bowed, as we strode past. My pulse quickened. I kept my eyes on the beams in the ceiling. A hand on the small of my back turned me toward the banquet hall, but I wished he’d keep it there longer. Legion’s touch was fast becoming an anchor, grounding me through the storm of this place, of this life.

Double doors parted and opened into the glittering hall. Chatter from a growing crowd echoed off the domed rooftop. A dozen tables were set and prepared, and in the center of the room was a platform. I closed my eyes. An executioner’s block.

On a raised dais, Zyben and the queen sat. Calder stood stalwart beside them, until he saw Runa. As expected, he abandoned his position and took his future bride’s hand, kissed it, and led her to a seat at the head of one table with him.

My stomach rumbled as I scanned the feast. Bread stuffed with dates. Honey glazes on poached salmon. Cold eel and stewed turnips. All of it reminded my insides I’d not eaten since this morning.

“Kvinna Elise.”

I turned quickly, nearly ramming my head into Jarl’s. “Oh, Jarl. I didn’t see you.”

Jarl was dressed in his blue captain’s gambeson. He took my hand and pressed a kiss to the top. “I wonder if I might escort you from here.” He pointed his stare at Legion. “That is if Herr Grey approves.”

A muscle twitched in Legion’s jaw, but I guessed I was the only one close enough to notice. Legion hid his disquiet beneath the signature slyness of his grin. “I don’t speak for Elise. She has her own voice.”

By the gods, the man knew how to set my pulse aflame.

I blinked my frenzy to Jarl, who seemed either perturbed or surprised at the response, and nodded my consent.

If I didn’t take a few steps away from Legion, I might do something foolish . . . like kiss him.